Page 140 of The Altar Girls

‘Yes. I recall something like this on Willow’s body when I saw her in the crib. But I didn’t take much notice of it then.’ He squeezed the image to zoom in on the beads. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘There are a lot of things I don’t understand either, but for now I’d like you to tell me what you know about the beads.’

He gulped and handed the phone back.

‘Father, I haven’t all day.’

‘Did you talk to Alfie about this?’

‘Alfie? What would he have to do with it?’

‘I can’t say.’ The priest shook his head and she was convinced he knew something important. ‘You’ll have to talk to him.’

‘I can arrest you for impeding my investigation.’

He paled and gulped again. ‘I need air.’

Before she could stop him, he’d rushed out the door.

Lottie followed, hoping he hadn’t run. He hadn’t. She found him leaning against the pebble-dashed wall of the church, hunched over with his hands on his knees, his breathing ragged.

‘What is it?’ she asked, wondering if he was having an asthma attack. ‘Can I get you something? Water?’ Where the hell would she get water? She’d have to leave him and go back inside. No way.

‘Give me a minute. I’ll be fine. Can you send that image to my phone?’

She sent him the photo, then walked around him in a small circle, coming to a stop in front of him. He straightened his back, running his hands through his hair, sweeping it back from his brow. Pearls of perspiration beaded his forehead.

‘I need to see the actual rosary,’ he said.

‘It’s gone for analysis. I want you to tell me how you recognise it.’

He inhaled a few puffs of the cold December air. His breath hung around him like stagnant fog.

‘It’s exactly like one my mother had.’

86

Sitting silently in the hospital corridor, Boyd looked over at Enda.

‘I now know how a parent feels at the loss of a child. The absolute devastation is something no one could recover from. I feel so bad for Willow and Naomi’s parents. No one should have to experience their child dying before they do.’

Enda raised a weary eyebrow and shook his head. ‘Life doesn’t prepare anyone for death. But there’s always hope. Will I get us a couple of coffees?’

‘Just for yourself.’

Enda ambled away and Boyd walked in a never-ending circle. The last half-hour had been a manic dash to the hospital, Duncan applying all the speed and lights he could to transport them there. They’d had no time to wait for an ambulance to travel out from Sligo. Boyd had wrapped Sergio in a bundle of garda fleeces and tin-foil blankets, and with the child pressed to his chest, he’d prayed to God to take him instead and let Sergio live.

Now he was out here and his son was in there with a medical team working on him, and he tried to prepare himself for the worst.

A door swung open and a doctor came towards him. Boyd thought his heart was going to stop and a searing pain shot through his head. Maybe God had heard him. He would die so his son could live. Then the pain disappeared as the doctor removed his mask and sat on the chair vacated by Enda. Boyd sat too.

‘You can tell me, Doctor.’

‘Your son is a very lucky boy that you found him when you did.’

The rest of the doctor’s words floated in the ether. Something about severe dehydration and malnutrition. Long road ahead. Boyd tuned into the final conclusion. ‘Sergio is going to be okay.’

And he buried his head in his hands and wept with gratitude.

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